April 18, 2008

My parents constantly act shocked that I aspire to add new, wacky crafts to my list of pleasures, and I'm sure this one tops their list of least likely things they ever would have imagined I'd want to do as an adult. But, there you go. I guess we can't always see the future for our children.

Ella's kindergarten teacher organized an event a few months back for all her class parents to meet the school's handwork teacher. As you might expect, only the moms showed up, but we had such a nice time sitting around gossiping together. The handwork teacher, Miss Laurie, set up the room with foam blocks and felting needles, walked us through the steps to make a basic doll and then let us loose to do with it what we would. I decided to add some wings and make a little 'fairy mother' for Ella, and it has since been one of her prize possessions. The next day, she and I sat down and used some leftover wool to make the little babies she's holding, and Ella was pretty thrilled to pick up a needle and start stabbing away.

We're doing a fund raiser for Ella's class next month, and I tried to get some of the interested moms together to make some little needle-felted crafts to sell. It ended up being a bust, but now I have all the supplies for myself! I worked on this new fairy mother doll and her babes (this time with little wings!), and I'll try my best to part with her. How much do you think I should charge? $25? Is that too much? Too little? I really have no idea what something like this would sell for...

With all my leftover supplies, I've decided to make Ella a little mer-family for her upcoming birthday. I've got the mama mermaid in the works and am on the lookout for some miniature shells to cover her fluffy chest. I think she needs a big, strong merman and a daughter and maybe a merbaby too. I'll take more pictures as they come together...

March 12, 2008

Springtime in Sonoma county is blissful: cool mornings, sunny afternoons and everyone itching to spend the whole day outside. After "quiet time" the other day, we went over to our friends' cul-de-sac for a little bicycle action on the street. When I told Ella our plans, she smiled brightly, with so much generosity in her voice and said, "Oh, those guys are so lucky to live on such a nice street!" Incidentally, we live on a highway.

With the sun still warming us low in the sky, the kids raced back and forth down the street and then spent a good hour playing with the gravel in my friend's front yard. They buried each other in it and filled their tucked-in t-shirts until they looked pregnant and chubby. They were hysterical with giggles and filthy with dust, and the whole scene was just one of those perfect life moments. Nothing special, just a simple, satisfying afternoon.

After the children had completely stretched out their t-shirts with rocks, Ella asked one the of the neighbor boys if he was going to tell his mom about his ruined shirt when he got home. He was balancing on his bike, standing still, when he slowly put his feet on the ground and said, "I don't have a mom." Not quite grasping the gravity in his voice, or maybe she did, Ella responded, "Oh, do you have two daddies?"

Witnessing their interaction from afar, I smiled at her modern assumption and then my heart just broke as he told her that his mother had died four years ago. He just has a dad now, he said. And a grandma. And a kid brother. Only a few seconds passed when they all shrugged it off and went back at it on their bikes, but I'm not so easily distracted.

We seem to be surrounded with breaking families lately. Two of Ella's close school friends' parents are going through difficult divorces (is that redundant?), and another is clearly on the brink. Then we learned that our neighbors/friends are splitting up and moving (separately) across town. On top of all that, a few weeks ago and out of the blue as far as I was concerned, my sister-in-law practically arrived on our doorstep after fleeing the state to escape her husband of 24 years. He had some kind of breakdown, and she had to get a year-long restraining order against him. What is going on, people? Is it something about that pesky Mercury in retrograde? Maybe I'm just finally old enough for all of my friends' marriages to start becoming part of the national stat? It's so depressing.

Despite all of that swirling around us, our life continues to improve and look brighter every day. New, and potentially very rewarding, opportunities are presenting themselves left and right, and Matt is beside himself with plans (and work). He's so excited and pleased and gracious that even his constant distraction with work isn't irritating me the way it has in the past. Finally having a light at the end of this long new business tunnel is definitely improving my patience with his workaholism.

Back to yesterday, after we'd said our goodbyes and packed up her bicycle, I stealthily encouraged Ella to tell me about her conversation with the neighbor boy, pretending I didn't know about his mother. She seemed to take it in stride—very matter-of-fact. Somehow that conversation segued in her mind to her neighbor friend's new living situation, and Ella said, "I wish you and daddy lived in separate houses, like S's parents, because then I would have two houses." I guess S's parents have pitched their separation to their kid as a fun new adventure, worthy of 5 year old envy. I told her that we're all happy living together, but it's nice that S is excited about her daddy's new house. Then she asked if she could have a cookie when we got home.

Apparently all this it's not screwing with her nearly as much as it is with me!

October 04, 2007

The school year is well underway, and Ella seems to be growing up before my very eyes. Kindergarten: it's so full of purity and innocence and an eagerness to explore. Her class and teacher and school have defied my wildest hopes, and she is just blossoming and loving every single moment. She wakes up excited for her day, and can't wait to get to school and see all her new friends. It's really a beautiful thing.

I'm not sure if all Waldorf Kindergartens talk about Fairy Mother and the Little Ones,
but all the schools in this town do (did I mention we moved to Waldorf Mecca--there are three schools in our tiny 8,000-person town). At the beginning of the school year, we had a parent meeting, which was such a lovely evening, and Ella's new teacher told us that the kindergarten children learn about Fairy Mother, the matriarch of all the fairies and protector of the Little Ones, which are small dolls that come to join each child. The teacher and her assistant handcraft these dolls for each of the children, after they've gotten to know them a bit, and she told us about the special bond created with these unique dolls.

Fairy Mother escorts one or two Little Ones at a time into the classroom during the first two months of school, and every day the children are beside themselves with anticipation. At first, they might happen upon one of the Little Ones in the teapot or hiding on the Nature Table, but as more and more of them arrive, the kids begin to practically ransack the room each morning hoping to find one.

Ella's was one of the last dolls to arrive. Sometimes the Little Ones who have already come bring messages from Fairy Mother, and on Monday, Jack's Little One told the teacher that Ella's would be coming on Soup Day (a.k.a. Wednesday). And, he also informed everyone that her name was Lacy. Up until that point, Ella was engaged in Little One Madness, but she didn't seem terribly eager for her doll to come. But on Monday when she told me the news after school, there was a fire behind her eyes and I could feel her burning with anticipation. By the next morning, it was all she could talk about, and by Tuesday night, she could barely sleep. Lacy, Lacy, Lacy.

She woke up so early on Soup Day that the wait to go to school must have felt interminable. We ate french toast as a family, and she told us about how Lacy had visited her dreams. We searched her drawers for clothes with lace, and she seemed more than satisfied with our paltry findings. As I was getting things together to leave, I found her snuggled up on a chair with Tozai staring off into space. When I got her attention, she said, "Mommy, I can't think of anything but Lacy!"

Wednesday is our day to pick up a classmate on the way to school, and when Ella's friend climbed in the car she said, "Ella, I'm so excited. I couldn't even fall asleep last night!" I threw her dad a questioning look, and he chimed in, "I hear your Little One is coming today, Ella." How sweet is that?

At school, the girls raced in to get their indoor shoes on and dashed into the classroom. I gave the teacher a worried look and said, "Ella tells me her Little One is coming today...?" I was so relieved when she smiled knowingly and invited me to have a seat. About six kids gathered around Ella and offered to help her search. They held hands and walked around the room searching together. In the cubbies. On the bookshelf. In the 'cabin corner'. In the kitchen. On the art table. More children joined in as they arrived.

Finally, one of the girls said, "Let's ask for a clue!" and she immediately ran to the doll house to get her Little One and carry it over to the teacher. Holding the doll up to her ear, the teacher nodded, pretending to hear a secret message and said, "Red and white with a hat that's bright." The children all turned to each other and repeated it like a mantra, and then they agreed to split up and look again. After another few minutes, they asked for another clue. "Candle, candle shining bright."

That was it. They all raced for the candle table, and one of the boys gingerly picked up Ella's waiting Little One and carefully held it above his head for all to see. Then he handed it to Ella,
and they all gathered around to meet the new doll. The pure innocence of this scene took my breath away. These kids all believe, wholeheartedly, that a fairy brought them their Little Ones, that these dolls chose them somehow. And their generosity and kindness and reverence, it was just so... Words don't do the moment justice.

January 08, 2007

The other day, Ella and I were clicking around on the iTunes Music Store, listening to clips of holiday songs. She loves hearing different renditions of the same song, and while on a mission to track down as many versions of Jingle Bells as we could, Ella fell in love with "Here Comes Santa Claus".
We must have heard it 50 different ways, including a very strange rendition compiled from cat meows by a group called The Jingle Cats. In our endless search, we happened to click on the Andy Williams album I grew up listening to around Christmas.

So, I told her, "Ella, this is the Christmas album I always listened to when I was a little girl."

January 07, 2007

In the past few years, my parents have become big gift givers, and the competing forces of gratitude and greed and then inadequacy and resentment have been at play in my mind ever since. Part of me is so grateful for their generosity but then also thinks it's over the top and sending the wrong message about the holidays to Ella, and then the other part of me says, "Screw it—just give me the huge J. Crew gift certificate." On top of that, there's the feeling of not being able to measure up, wondering if my well-intentioned gifts get overlooked for their lack of a soaring price tag.

Among my extended family, my mother is notorious and often scorned for giving extravagant, lavish gifts. Everyone sees her generosity as a means of flaunting her wealth (which is greater than the rest of the family but not extreme by any stretch) and, in turn, making everyone else feel inferior. Naturally, she resents and adamantly denies that her gift giving is anything other than pure of intention. She also resents that despite being demonized for giving so generously, many members of our family have taken advantage of it or come to expect and even demand it. I think she's just looking for eternal gratitude (no small request), but regardless of her intentions, it rarely works out the way she would like.

Before Christmas, Matt and I talked about how far we wanted to take Ella's gifts this year, and determined that we definitely have different ideas about how much is too much... Last year, I made a concerted effort to go light on gifts and encouraged our family to do the same. We spent very little on Ella—the most important gift consisted of a dowel and some rope for her precious trapeze. And, naturally, she was thrilled with everything she was given. In line with what she received, the three of us worked together to make gifts of homemade bath products for all the women on our list and her friends at school, and I think the process of making something and seeing the delight on peoples' faces really got through to Ella. She was totally into it.

By comparison, I was very lazy this year. Virtually nothing was handmade, and most of the gifts I gave felt relatively uninspired. Considering the past few months were probably some of the most hectic of my life, I'm cutting myself some slack. Still, I'm sad that I didn't exemplify, for Ella, the spirit of tradition and giving this season. We were downright skimpy with the holiday cheer, and it's killing me that this was likely one of the last few Christmases when she'll still believe in Santa. The magic is going to be over before she's had a chance to really experience it (the way I want her to anyway). So, what about presents?

Matt argued that Ella is a lot like he was a kid when it comes to her toys—she plays with them endlessly, appreciates things genuinely and somehow remembers the forgotten thing (usually the one that I managed to purge when she wasn't looking) within a day or two. She does seem to appreciate everything she owns, and even manages to remember who gave her what, referring to "the puzzle Imogen gave me" or "the sweater Grandma made for me."

Can you tell I'm trying to justify too many presents?

At first when people asked her what she wanted for Christmas this year, Ella answered, "Nothing." I was taken aback. She really couldn't think of anything, which is lovely in one way and in another points to the fact that she has everything under the sun. Then we stopped in to see Santa before we left for Hawaii, and when asked, she told him that she wants some stickers and a bike. Being that a plane ride was required to return home, Santa couldn't bring her a bike. A Razor scooter seemed like a good substitute, and I already knew she'd love it. She has also been coveting a cabbage patch kid, and the nostalgic kid in me can't resist giving her the thing I wanted most that Christmas so many, many years ago. So, we had a scooter and a helmet, a new doll, and a couple odds and ends for her stocking. I thought that was more than enough considering all the gifts she received from various relatives, including the mondo-wooden-kitchen from my mother (see above bit about lavish gift giving).

But then Matt got it in his head that Ella is ready to have music in her room. He is a hi-fi/speaker junkie, of the horns and tubes variety and if you know anyone like that (or him!), you'll believe me when I say, "He's crazy." So, seeing that my mom just sent him a new video iPod (with the 80GB drive no less--see what I mean?), he really, really wanted to give Ella his old, first generation iPod and old Altec speakers/recharger. But sheesh, that seemed like a lot to me.

When I was her age, Santa brought me my beloved Fisher Price record player, along with Kool & the Gang's "Celebration" and Olivia Newton John's "Let's Get Physical". It was a banner Christmas. We were living in Manhattan, Kansas, and I remember seeing it next to our fake tree on Christmas morning, in all it's tan and orange glory. I remember finding two cinder blocks with my mom, spraying them with the leftover silver paint we had used to decorate pine cones, and then using them to prop up a sheet of particle board that became my music table. I felt so grown up to be able to take out the albums and put them on my very own turntable.

But, but... An iPod seems so much bigger to me, and I thought maybe it was all about the price tag and the fact that I have some small conception of what goes into creating such a complex piece of equipment. It doesn't matter to me that it's old and probably not worth $30. It was still, at one time, a $250 piece of hi-tech equipment. Despite all my feelings about it, I recognized the practicality of Ella having such a compact system in her room, with no CDs to scratch or cases to lose. So, I reluctantly agreed.

Nothing could have prepared either of us for her reaction. Matt forgot to wrap it. So after Ella had unwrapped all the gifts under our tree he just picked up the iPod and told her it was her last present. He started to explain that it was a hand-me-down, and the only reason he was giving it to her was because it was very old, and he was getting a new one, and she takes such good care of her things, and she can be trusted to be responsible for something so important, and yadda yadda. But, in the midst of him telling her about it, she started shaking her head and saying no, tears welling up in her eyes. I was sitting on the floor nearby, and she ran to me, broke down sobbing and curled up in the fetal position on my lap. She didn't move for 20 minutes. We were stunned.

After much cajoling, we were able to determine that she understood how much responsibility it was to have something like that, and she just doesn't want it enough to take that on. Amazing. We both know how much she loves to listen to music and how excited she gets when we let her change the song and adjust the volume on any stereo. I guess we've been effective in our teaching of, "this is very, very delicate..." and maybe too(?) firm with her about taking care of her things

My mother recently told me that she would have spoiled me the same way she spoiled my brother (i.e., intensely), but that I wouldn't let her. I'd agree with that statement, but I don't know if I could have put it so concisely on my own. When I was born, my parents were struggling to make ends meet, and I'm sure that during my very early years they imparted some healthy values about needing and wanting and giving and receiving. By the time my brother came along, who, to be fair, is a very different character than me, my parents were better off financially, and my mom most certainly indulged him. A lot.

Ella's reaction to the iPod made me meditate on the power we wield over her value system. It seems so intense and so very delicate. We engineered her to have that response and yet couldn't anticipate, or maybe figure through, how she would react. In the big picture, Ella is a very, very privileged child, just as I was, but I hope that, just as my mom reminds me I did, she keeps telling us when we give her more than she can take.

December 07, 2006

Someday Ella is going to make an awesome big sister. There's never been a doubt in my mind. Her whole inner world revolves around nurturing everyone she encounters, regardless of their age or whether they're human or an animal or a toy. She just lives for it. Dolls are frequently in her arms, play-nursing from her up-turned shirt or being lugged around on her hip, and if there's a tiny dog, bunny or kitty in the vicinity she's chasing it down or cuddling it to her chest. At times it's exasperating--the times when she just won't let it go, as in, "Leave the dog alone--he's running away for a reason." or "If she says she doesn't want to sit on your lap/be picked up/give you a hug, please just stop asking"--but it's hard to complain about such a sweetness in her character.

A few weeks ago, Ella got on a weird kick where she was asking all her friends, flat out, "Do you like me?" Talk about giving a four-year old power. Naturally, most of them answered, "No." just because they could, and Ella's feelings were mightily wounded. Her teacher, who I am growing to love more and more with each passing day, spoke to me about it privately after school one day, and during that conversation it occurred to me how to help her. Instead of asking them if they like her, she just needs to tell them that she likes them. Don't give them the power to hurt you--just give them the love in your heart. Her teacher had the insight to give Ella this advice in the form of a story, which is something I just don't pull out of my parenting arsenal often enough.

Allow me to go off on a tangent for just a moment... In Seattle, we had a zoo membership and went often to visit Ella's favorite animals: the gorillas and the lone jaguar. Many of our friends would complain that they never got to see the jaguar when they went, but, and I know this sounds kooky, it seemed like he had a thing for Ella. Every time we visited his habitat, Junior would come right up to the glass next to Ella and almost always curl up on his rock and stare at her. I'm not making this up--one day I brought the camera and sure enough, he came up to say hello. Anyway, when it became a regular occurrence, I made up a bedtime story about a family of jaguars, like one might do about bears or rabbits or some other animal, and I've been mirroring Ella's life in the story of this family ever since.

So, that night I told Ella a story about the baby sister jaguar, Kaya, who comes home and talks to her big brother about her friends who say they don't like her. When I came to the lesson, Ella rolled into me and held me tight, whispering, "Thank you, Mommy." She had tears in her eyes as she listened to the rest of the story. How have I not know about this story as advice technique all this time? As I said, I've been mirroring our lives with the jaguar family, but I've never used story-time specifically to give her advice. It was remarkable.

Her teacher reported that she walked right in the next day and told all of her friends that she liked them and they all reciprocated in kind, and all was harmonious and easy again at school.

Yesterday, the teacher made a point to tell me that one of the other girls started crying when they went on their walk in the apple orchard that morning, and Ella came to the rescue. She just oozes empathy when someone is genuinely hurting, and apparently she walked right up and said,
"Oh C., it's okay. Here let me give you a hug. Just rest your head here right on my chest." Ella's teacher went on to say that for the rest of the day, Ella made it her mission to be C.'s little mama; holding her hand, rubbing her head, putting her arms around her.

In so many pieces of Ella's personality, in her words and expressions and manners and demeanor, I see myself or Matt, but when it comes to this obsessive need to nurture and shower her affection on everyone, I only see her. Sure, Matt and I are loving and affectionate, but she's taken it up to the tippy-toppest notch.

She is absolutely beside herself with the notion that we might, someday, have another baby, and asks me everyday when that day might come. "When are you going to have a new baby in your tummy?" "How will it get inside you?" "Can I watch you and Daddy make it?" She's relentless. She has stopped referring to herself as her baby-dolls' mommy and is now just their big sister. She asks me at least ten times a day if I'd like to hold her baby sister and wouldn't I like to give her some of my milk and could she just watch her baby sister sleep in my arms for a while. It goes on and on.

Part of me is so intensely moved by her desire for a sibling and other parts feel both sorry for myself and wracked with guilt for not giving her something that she so desperately, desperately wants. I feel like I say this every goddamn month, but I'l be fertile and ovulating next week when we get to Kona. So, maybe a little Libra baby brother or sister is in the stars for us. It's hard to get too worked up about it, but Ella certainly never lets me forget for a moment. A blessing and a curse.

December 06, 2006

One evening during our Thanksgiving visit with my in-laws, Ella's Auntie M. came inside after being lured out in the dark by my glow-stick-loving daughter. Ella desperately wanted to share her neon lights with someone, and convinced my step-sister-in-law to walk around the side of the house with her. After their walk, M. informed me that I have the most thoughtful four-year old she's ever met. It seems Ella forgot to put on her shoes when she went outside, and when they got to the slightly damp stretch next to the side of the house, Ella took off her socks. M. protested saying that Ella's feet would be too cold, but Ella argued, "Well, I don't want my mommy to have to do extra laundry."

Smart girl.

The solo parenting thing has been smooth sailing since we returned from Hawaii a few weeks ago. We quickly jumped back into a routine, something we both desperately need, and I think we're riding on a crest of good behavior right now. I always think of parenting as a six month wave cycle, where everyone is getting along well with firm discipline and consistency; then there's some parental slacking and shortly thereafter some child testing; then it's full blown mayhem for a few days until the hammer comes back down and we're back on top for awhile. Right now it feels like we've been on top for a good long stretch. I've probably been a bit more strict than I would be with Matt around just because I need some firm boundaries right now, but it seems to be working.

In the spirit of positive thinking, I'm doing my damnedest to prepare for and look forward to yet another trip to the Big Island. After the fiasco that was our November trip, I can't imagine it could really be any worse...

Matt was planning to come home next week, but as that day approached he realized he was dreaming. So, we weighed all our options and the finances, and it makes more sense for Ella and I to go to Matt than for him to come home for only a few days. So, we fly out again next Monday (good grief, that seems soon), and then we'll all come back home together before the new year.

November 01, 2006

Ella has a fascination with all things co-branded--what child doesn't, I suppose, and I she keeps telling me that this or that is her "Barbie" toy or her "Princess" t-shirt or her "Hello Kitty" jammies. It drives me nuts, and I'm sure that's one of the main reasons she persists. I could rant on this topic ad nauseum, but I don't have time right now.

Anyway, when asked what she wanted to be for Halloween, Ella immediately bellowed, "Hello Kitty!" So sick of the constant talk of popular girl brands, I blurted out, "What about if you're Bye-Bye Kitty instead?" Seeming perfectly satisfied with that little play on words, she took it a step further and said, "Okay, I'll be Bye-Bye Ricker." Ricker, aka Rickie Lee and Rick, was our siamese cat who died last year.

So off we went to the fabric store in search of something in the sealpoint variety, yeah right, and we ended up getting some black minky fur that had us both purring in the aisles of bolts. Little did I know...

Whatever you do, don't ever sew anything with fur fabric. It's a lint nightmare. I had it in my nose, my eyes, my mouth. The only good thing about this project, which I did entirely without a pattern (as is evidenced by the neckline), was that I learned a lot about my new sewing machine. (More on the sewing maching another time) Closed overlock, gathering, different trinkets and accessories galore. It was pretty fun. And all in all, she made a very cute kitty:

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